


I Fell Into The Nest And Everyone Wanted Me To Stay

by sweetNsimple



Series: Adult Adoptions [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Adoption, Character Study, Christmas, Everybody In Love, Everyone Else Bangs, Everyone Is Intimate In Their Own Ways, Everyone Is Okay With That, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/F, F/M, Happy Happier Happiest, Intimacy, It Is Okay To Have Limits, M/M, Movie Night, Natasha Does Not Bang Anyone, Natasha Does Not Do Sex, Natasha centric, Orgies, Steve and Tony Do Not Bang, Though No One Actually Bangs In This Story, kind of, so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha was wanted by everyone, and she put a great deal of energy into not showing her shock.  She wasn't cuddly, or welcoming, and she didn't allow any of them to lay on her or against her, but someone different was always next to her, behind her, pulling her in close, urging her to lay against them, as if they were taking turns, wanting her to become a part of them instead of a part of the Avengers.  </p>
<p>She... was their friend.  And they were hers.  They wanted her there and they didn't even want her to hurt anyone, to say anything, to know what to do or say.  She didn't have to be the smartest or strongest or best in the room, to campaign for their respect or her own survival.  She wasn't the Black Widow, she wasn't the spy, the assassin, the danger to society and them, she was just, simply, Nat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Fell Into The Nest And Everyone Wanted Me To Stay

 

Natasha Romanov had no parents that she could remember. She had been raised, destroyed, and rebuilt in the Red Room, taught to obey her masters and to not question their rules. She had been trained to be a weapon, to be an object, like a gun in someone's hand, clothes on the floor, a sex toy in bed, all for pleasure, all for fulfillment, all mindless, not for herself, but for someone else.

 

Since leaving the Red Room, not much had changed. She was an extension of S.H.I.E.L.D., of the Avengers. She was theirs to use, and they kept her by letting her know that they knew that she could, and would, leave if she ever felt the urge to. She was their asset, but Agent Coulson, Clint Barton, Mariah Hill, even Nick Fury, had told her that she was her own person, her own to find and harness and... enjoy.

 

Sexual satisfaction had been beaten out of her, and the ability to use it against others had been soldered into the front of her brain, into the tips of her fingers, the corner of her lips, the curl of her tongue, the squeeze of her muscles around someone else's flesh. S.H.I.E.L.D. had her use that ability because they knew she was seduction – not just good at it, but its very personification. She let them tell her to use it because they asked first. She had the right to red tag and deny any mission she pleased as a person who had undergone torture, brainwashing, and conditioning. She wouldn't always be heeded, but she would always be given a chance to defend her reasoning.

 

It was more than the Red Room had ever offered her. And so she was happy.

 

Until then the Avengers began to change.

 

It began with Movie Night every other Thursday, coming into the entertainment center in pairs or by themselves until they had all claimed a spot of their own, usually between ten minutes before the first movie started and ten minutes before the second movie ended. Stark was always the last one in, but the most passionate about what they watched. Clint was first, then Natasha, then Steve. If Thor was there, he was next, and, if he wasn't, Bruce would stumble in instead. Sometimes, Pepper and Happy would join them as a couple, Pepper with a Starkpad in hand while Happy distractedly massaged her shoulders, feet, or scalp. Even Coulson made surprise visits, pointedly ignoring how Clint was instantly in his space and staying there through so many hours of action and drama, romance and horror, parodies and classics. They had been married for two years and had a running bet on how long it would take for Stark to notice. Or anyone in the Avengers' Tower, really.

 

Betty Ross and Jane Foster were known to wander in as well. Jane talked animatedly through the movie, usually with Tony, much to Thor's amusement and everyone else's irritation. Brainy, beautiful Betty Ross kept very quiet, very focused on the movies, as if she was learning something from them, usually not even noticing Bruce fidgeting and smiling by her side, as if he still sometimes could not believe that she was there, doing something as mundane as Movie Night with him.

 

At the end of the third movie, sometime after four months, a nest of pillows and blankets had been built in the center of the room, and that was where everyone laid, one over top the other, limbs tangled, like a group of children, giggling over ice cream and pizza, soda and popcorn, laughing and crying and raging together. Even Natasha was dragged in with them, huddled beneath the curve of Clint's one arm and with Stark's legs carelessly thrown over hers and Coulson's. Steve eventually crawled his way from the corner of the nest to beneath her, encouraging her to use his wide, strong back as a resting place.

 

They found out a lot of things about each other in that nest. They found out that Jane didn't like to cuddle, and that she preferred the outside of the nest. They found out that Stark _loved_ to cuddle, and wanted to be buried underneath them in the least sexual – though he tried his hardest to make it so – way possible that was still so intimate and fragile. He and Steve became closer after that discovery (And Natasha made a bet with Clint about how long it would take them to fuck, watching Stark wriggle into Steve's steel embrace, happy and loose-limbed, Steve's face soft and his smile bright, and she thought it came to be when she found Steve cooking just for Stark, coming out of Stark's room in the early mornings, going with Stark on roadtrips, but it wasn't love like she thought, wasn't sex and wedding rings, but something much harder to name because Steve looked at Stark like he was something precious, something one of a kind, but not someone he wanted to kiss and make love to. Steve looked at Stark like he was someone worth ending the world for, someone worth giving his life up for, someone worth living for, but they never kissed, never embraced, never pulled each other in till there was no space between and been caught soiling the kitchen counter) because Steve loved to be touching them, loved to have them leaning on him, laying on him, huddled beneath him. He loved that he was big enough to give them warmth, comfort, something to rest on. It was his drug, to feel their weight on him, always followed by a long, shuddering breath, a fluttering of his eyes, every muscle in his body loosening as he used this weapon, his body, this supersoldier creation, to bring them comfort and solace without being made to feel like a sex icon, like a dancing monkey, like a machine gun that kept firing and killing till no one was left to stand.

 

Clint was neither – he didn't care to cuddle, but he didn't mind it either. He preferred to be towards the back of the nest, sitting up, able to see all of them, but he also liked to be close to their body heat, especially his husband's (and Stark realized suddenly, when they weren't even _doing_ anything, that they were married and then preceded to screech about it for days on end till Phil threatened to taze him and then ended up sulking for two weeks after when Steve glared at him and told him he certainly would _not_ ). Thor was a cuddle _fiend_. Man and woman, he dragged them all in, held them in his lap, stroked their hair (braided it if it was long enough, and Natasha's Dutch braid was tight enough after he was done that she managed to keep it in for two days before she was forced to unravel and wash it), their backs, hugged them close, and laughed in their ears, huffed into their shoulders, yelled over their heads. Jane was perfectly fine with it, even encouraged it, especially if she thought any of them looked upset. Whenever Darcy came along, not as often as Jane and Thor, she stole Thor's lap for her own, and her hair always ended up as a masterpiece she was proud to show off by early morning.

 

Phil remained caring and protective. He surveyed each of them before he chose his place in the nest. It was usually with Pepper, or where Pepper would be if she wasn't present, the two of them simultaneously watching the movie and working. However, if someone was on edge, if someone was there but wasn't mentally present, he was with them, not touching, but comforting, solid, _safe_. If he wasn't working and he wasn't projecting a haven over someone, he was in the back with Clint, keeping an eye on them and the movie while keeping Clint in the curl of his arm.

 

Happy and Pepper would claim a corner, Happy still working Pepper over, winning her ever-growing love with large hands and soft kisses that weren't distracting so much as soothing. Pepper always worked, no exceptions, even when Stark swore she had no work to do, and yet she always knew exactly what was going on in the movie, always knew exactly how to tell Stark to shut up or lower his voice, how to glare everyone back into sitting down so that she and Happy could get the snacks instead of making everyone else get up for refills.

 

Betty and Bruce claimed a different corner. Bruce was in the cradle of Betty's body, her fingers carding through his hair, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs bracing his hips as he leaned back into her. He depended so solely on her whenever she was present, calmed simply by her nearness, by the fact that she existed and accepted him for his existence and the Hulk, who loved him and his darkness. It was heartbreaking to watch him drift and relax and not know at all what movie they were watching so much as breathe and take Betty in. It was in the nest that Betty learned she had to keep a whispering commentary going for Bruce, interspersed with Stark's and Jane's louder comments.

 

Meanwhile, Natasha...

 

Natasha was wanted by everyone, and she put a great deal of energy into not showing her shock. She wasn't cuddly, or welcoming, and she didn't allow any of them to lay on her or against her, but someone different was always next to her, behind her, pulling her in close, urging her to lay against them, as if they were taking turns, wanting her to become a part of them instead of a part of the Avengers.

 

She... was their friend. And they were hers. They wanted her there and they didn't even want her to hurt anyone, to say anything, to know what to do or say. She didn't have to be the smartest or strongest or best in the room, to campaign for their respect or her own survival. She wasn't the Black Widow, she wasn't the spy, the assassin, the danger to society and them, she was just, simply, Nat.

 

She let them drag her in because she reveled in their warmth and their selflessness and her own selfishness.

 

But then they became lovers, and that began in the nest. It was caresses and kisses first, with Tony and Clint, Phil petting them. Tony played his hands over Jane and Thor watched animatedly between them and the TV without any jealousy. Tony nuzzled Betty and debauched Bruce with his mouth and Betty watched with heated eyes, and...

 

Honestly, the sexual intimacy began with Tony, because it was the easiest way Tony knew how to connect with others. He'd had many lovers, not as many as the media crowed (the twelve for twelve calendar models rumor was a myth he joyfully played into, but still a myth that wasn't true), some out of mutual hate, but most out of genuine respect. After Afghanistan, Tony didn't have any lovers. He had pretty ladies he kissed and pretty men he touched, but none of them were allowed to touch him back. Afghanistan, the Hell he had survived, had changed him, and his body stopped being a playtoy and became a powerhouse.

 

The web of intimacy stretched and grew until only Happy, Pepper, and she were excluded. It wasn't sex, per say, though she strongly suspected that some of them were partaking in it, but clothes were shed, kisses were exchanged, hands roamed, and so many pairs of eyes lit with love and heat.

 

Pepper and Tony could not go back down that road, however, and Happy and Pepper could not share themselves like they rest of them slowly began to over several months. When they were over, clothes were carefully kept on.

 

Everyone's limits on the intimacy were different. Jane had a No Kissing Rule, until the one kissing her was Thor, while Thor eagerly and openly kissed whoever leaned towards him. Betty loved all of their touches, but she loved it more when they were touching Bruce. When Darcy came, it was a free for all. Phil was only allowed to be touched by Clint, Steve, and, surprisingly, Tony, but not Steve and Tony at the same time because Steve and Tony refused to have that sort of relationship together. And he touched them equally back. Clint, even with permission, would not put his hands on anyone in an already existing relationship, and was respected for it, though Thor still managed to convince him to bear kisses on the face as long as they did not touch his mouth. Tony did not let any of them touch his arc reactor, and none of them contested it, not even a word on how he should trust them, because he _did_ and that was good enough, even if he wasn't ready, and maybe would never be ready, for them to be so intimately close to that one thing that could end him.

 

Natasha's limits were the strictest, and that was because she wouldn't accept any of the intimacy. Because it was too artificial on her end, the enjoyment was nonexistent, and knowing them, caring for them, wanting to protect them and keep them close, did nothing to change that. There was no warmth, no flickering heat, no happiness when their lust turned towards her, and, even though she let them play with her once or twice, they quickly caught on and stopped.

 

It wasn't fun for them if it wasn't fun for her, and she didn't have any fun with it at all.

 

But they still cuddled with her. Thor still braided her hair and Tony still sprawled all over her, and Steve was still her personal body pillow.

 

She was fine with it. She would even go so far as to say she was happier now than before.

 

Then it was Christmas day, and they were all there, and it was peculiar, how they kept looking at her, then Phil, then Clint. It was the same way they looked at Tony, then Steve.

 

It was after presents had been opened, at Christmas dinner, the tension rising to the point where Nat almost felt as if she would have to torture Jane (the worst at keeping secrets) for answers, that everything came to a head.

 

Steve cleared his throat, swallowed a mouthful of ham, and reached behind him for one last, brightly wrapped present. It was thin and long, possibly a book, but it wasn't a hardcover, and was the size appropriate for a flimsy yearbook or a children's story.

 

“I don't know if you know this,” he said, handing it to a very confused Tony. “But it's legal to adopt adults. Given that they're younger than you and that you've never been intimate with them.” He shrugged. “And other things, but those are the two most important rules.”

 

The confusion dropped. Tony's eyes and mouth went wide, his face a show of shock as he numbly reached for the present. His hands were steady and slow as they carefully ripped the wrapping paper.

 

It was a manilla folder, and Tony opened it up. Out came official looking documents that required his signature and that already had Steve's.

 

Tony looked up at Steve. Steve was fiddling with his fork.

 

“But _I'm_ older than _you_ ,” Tony said dumbly.

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. took care of it,” Phil said from Nat's right.

 

“When?” Tony asked, voice high and thin, hands like claws on the papers, jerking them away when Bruce moved to hand him a pen on his right until he realized that the other man wasn't trying to take them away.

 

“When we requested these,” Clint said from Nat's left. Then he handed her a present that looked exactly like Stark's had before he had unwrapped it, the same shape and in the same wrapping paper.

 

She stopped breathing.

 

She wasn't sure how to start again.

 

“No one stops wanting parents that want them back,” Clint said, possibly to her, but everyone at the table was quiet and watching her and Tony. “Phil and I... we want you to be our daughter. Our grown up, kickass, assassin daughter that can wipe the floor with us any day of the week, every week of the year.”

 

Natasha knew that she had to put thought into this, into what this would do to their professional and private relationship. She should. Even if Clint had been the one to bandage her up and bring her in, to give her that first taste of independence, of self-worth, to first make her question what she had always left unquestioned, what had always left her hurt and bitter. He had smiled and laughed and he had never been afraid of her, had treated her like a human being instead of a weapon, instead of something he held in his hands and used.

 

And even though Phil always sat outside her hospital room and kept guard as she healed, always stayed awake on missions while she slept so that she would feel safer – not safe, but the closest she felt she would ever come to it – always had her back when someone wanted her taken down, studied, arrested, tortured, always knew where to find her and how to get her out, never left her on her own, even while he showed her that he knew completely and utterly that she could take care of herself, she should still consider this cautiously. She was a responsible, careful adult, after all.

 

Bruce reached a second pen towards her and she very responsibly, very carefully, took it from him and wrote down her name at every blank space with her clearest script so that it could never be misunderstood that she, Natasha Romanov, wished to be adopted by Clint Barton and Phil Coulson, who had both kept their surnames after marriage.

 

She would keep hers as well, she decided, and probably no one not at the table, excluding Fury, would ever find out that she had two fathers.

 

And she was perfectly fine with that.

 

Phil kissed her temple. “Thank you,” he said, and she believed from the tone of his voice that she had done him a pleasure by legally becoming his daughter. Clint laughed delightedly and squeezed her hand.

 

And then everyone was looking at Tony, who was staring at Steve, having the most heartbreaking argument with his wide, glassy eyes alone, and was met with Steve's determination and devotion, his blue eyes lit with how certain he was, jaw tight. Tony sucked in a deep breath.

 

“Okay. Alright. Yeah, that would be... Yeah. Captain America's my dad, _fuck_ yeah.” And he signed.

 

And everyone cheered.

 

And Natasha knew, this was the happiest she had ever been.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this because, some day, I want to adopt my own adults.


End file.
